


Hopeless

by for_the_love_of_wolves



Series: Alphabet Stories [8]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abduction, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Cages, Captivity, Dark, M/M, Post-Hale Fire (Teen Wolf), Spark Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:53:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29877318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_the_love_of_wolves/pseuds/for_the_love_of_wolves
Summary: Hopeless = Feeling or causing despair.Stiles is abducted and thrown into a cage. Kate Argent tells him he is a spark and makes him meet an Alpha werewolf. It is all very confusing and terrifying, but Stiles soon knows, on which side he is going to end up.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Alphabet Stories [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2129667
Comments: 24
Kudos: 197





	Hopeless

Stiles is dragged into a basement, the grip around his arms bruising. 

“My Dad is the sheriff,” he tells them yet again and just like the last time, the men who abducted him won’t listen. They just laugh as they throw him into a cage. 

Iron bars, the floor made of rough concrete, scrubbing his knees sore. 

Stiles can’t help it. His armour cracks. He sniffles and wipes at his eyes angrily. 

He doesn’t understand. 

He doesn’t even know what they want from him. Do they want ransom? That’s ridiculous. Everyone knows Stiles and his Dad are basically living from scraps …

Stiles is interrupted in his thoughts when steps approach. The men step away, making place for a woman. Her blond hair is falling over her shoulders in waves and her eyes sparkle in violent joy. Stiles knows her. She is Kate Argent. A teacher at his school. What the actual hell. 

Stiles tries to sound brave when he speaks, although he is kneeling on the floor of a damn cage. “You aren’t going to get away with this,” he promises. “You better let me go. My father will raise hell to find out where I am!” 

Kate just looks down at him, smiling gently. “You watched too many crime movies, darling,” she tells him, crouching to be on eye level with him. She studies him for a moment, then tilts her head in a predatory way. “You don’t even know what you are, do you?” she asks, eyes glowing in mean glee. 

Stiles doesn’t understand. He is sure he doesn’t want to understand. But he knows he has enough of this. Of being abducted and manhandled and … thrown into a freaking cage. 

“Please. I want to go home,” he says, blinking back tears.  
  
Kate tuts. “Oh, darling. I _know_ ,” she runs her fingers through his hair and Stiles recoils, his stomach clenching in disgust. 

Kate’s lips curl into a smirk. “You are special Stiles. That is why you can’t go home. Yet.” 

Yet. Despite his better knowing, Stiles feels a pang of hope. Yet is not never, right? 

He almost misses Kate’s next words. “I need you. See, you are a very rare thing, Stiles. You have a spark. It is still sleeping inside you, this little spark. Dormant. But it will wake up. And then, you will be able to help me. Help us.” 

Stiles just stares. He didn’t understand a single word. “What the hell is a spark?!”

Kate’s smirk broadens. “A spark can feel and influence other magical creatures. Like, hmmm, werewolves.” 

Stiles’ stomach sinks. Feels like it is falling into a pit without a bottom. Oh God. This woman is even crazier than he thought. God. Maybe he is going to die down here. Stiles doesn’t want to die. He bends over and tries to keep himself from hyperventilating.

Kate studies him for a moment longer, like he is a mildly interesting insect under her microscop. Finally, she gets up and leaves his cage, closing and locking the door. Then, she steps to the side and kicks against the bars of the cage besides Stiles. 

A growl resonates in the darkness there. 

Stiles freezes. What the fuck. Oh God. What … 

“Wakey, wakey,” Kate calls in her awful cheery voice and kicks the cage again. “I want you to meet Stiles, mutt. He’ll be here with us for a while.”

Stiles really doesn’t want to meet whatever is in that cage. The growling gets louder and Stiles whimpers, when two red eyes start to glow in the darkness. He curls up in the farest corner of his cage and hugs his knees, pleading again. Pleading this is just a dream. 

Kate smiles at Stiles. “He’s a little bit shy, but he’ll come to take a look at you later, I guess. You’ll get time to get used to each other. Afterwards, I am going to tell you exactly what you are going to do, if you want your father to stay alive. Bye, Stiles.” 

She leaves with a little wave, the sound of her steps fading. 

“No,” Stiles whispers and a tear runs down his face, dripping from his chin. “No, no, no.” 

He yelps when there is another growl and a sound like something huge is moving around. 

God. This can’t be real. 

Stiles hides his face in the cocoon his arms build and closes his eyes, rocking back and forth. Just a dream. Just a dream … But damn, has it ever been so cold in his dreams? He’s shivering. 

The thing in the other cage stops growling and makes a whining noise. 

Stiles remembers what Kate said. Werewolves. God, she can’t be serious. Werewolves are … they are just myths. Stiles isn’t religious and he certainly isn’t superstitious. But what the hell is that thing? A dog? With glowing red eyes? 

He shivers, not only from the cold. It is night and so very dark down here... who knows, maybe there is more than one monsters around?

Stiles tries to forget and to fall asleep. Maybe, if he falls asleep, he is going to wake up. That's a paradox, but he doesn’t care. 

This can’t get any worse … 

* * *

When Stiles opens his eyes, dim daylight is flooding the basement. It is enough to light up his surroundings. And the cage beside him. But most importantly, it lights up what is in the cage. 

“Holy shit,” Stiles breathes, his eyes widening. “Holy fucking shit!” 

He will have to overthink his whole worldview. Because what is curled up in there, is definitely not a dog. It is the deformed mockery of a way too big and scrawny wolf. Patchy dark fur, almost black. A pair of perked ears and a long snout, put on two giant paws. 

Stiles forgot how to breathe. Okay. Right. Werewolves are real. Why not. Fuck. 

He heaves up a little, hysteric laugh. The werewolf flinches and opens one eye. It is not red now. Instead, it is wolfy yellow. When he opens the other eye, it is milky white and clearly blind. Now that Stiles is able to take a closer look, he sees the signs of pain and torture all over the wolf’s body. White scars and bones that don’t look right. 

Suddenly, the beast doesn’t look so much like a beast anymore. Suddenly, a wave of sad sympathy rushes through Stiles. 

“What did they do to you,” he whispers more to himself than to the wolf. But the werewolves’ ears twitch into his direction, his one good eye staring up at Stiles with unsettling intensity. 

Stiles swallows. Timidly, he uncurls and grimaces at the ache in all his limbs. He carefully shuffles forward, into the direction of the bars that separate him and the werewolf. He waits for a growl that is going to stop him, but it doesn’t come. The wolf just watches him, snout crinkling as he sniffs. 

“Uh, hello,” Stiles says when he is right in front of the bars. Up close, the sight is even more disturbing. Werewolves … Always the monsters in stories. Always the ones hunting humans through the forest and getting shot with silver bullets. This one does but also doesn't look like a monster. And for some reason … Stiles feels drawn to the wolf. 

He doesn’t even notice he is reaching out, until his fingers are in the space between the bars and the werewolf slowly raises his head to sniff at them, warm breath hitting Stiles’ skin. Stiles holds his breath, but he doesn’t flinch away. He still doesn’t recoil, when the wolf stretches his neck more and rubs his nose against his hand with a low rumble. 

Like an oversized cat, Stiles thinks incredulously. 

“We are prison mates now, I guess,” he tells the werewolf, carefully moving his fingers over the snout and between his ears, rubbing there gently. “I have no idea what they want from me. Said I am a spark, whatever that means. What the hell are they doing with a werewolf in their basement? Oh. Oh wait. They are … They are like hunters, right? Like in Supernatural? Sure … Argent. That translates to silver.”

The werewolf just listens to Stiles’ rambling, turning his head into the rub, the grumbling noise getting louder. Stiles has a thought that it might have been ages since the wolf has been touched with kindness, and his stomach clenches. “I guess they are not the good guys in this story,” he mutters. “What did they do to you?” 

Now he really wants to know. The werewolf looks him in the eyes, Stiles feels a strange kind of pull somewhere in his chest, and suddenly … Stiles sees. 

He sees and he feels. 

Sees flames licking at blackening walls. Sees smoke filling a basement. He hears screams and feels unbearable pain. 

When it stops, he is breathing heavily, sweat building on his forehead. He has his hand still between the werewolves’ ears. The wolf makes a whining noise and bumps his head into the touch. 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles breathes, sorrow filling his mind and heart. “You lost your whole family. I … I lost my mum. I can’t imagine how it would be like to also lose my Dad and everyone else I love. I’m sorry.” 

The sorrow mingles with rage when he remembers he is in the basement of those who did this. When he realizes they are keeping the wolf here like a fucking trophy, just to torture him more, probably. When he realizes what they want is for Stiles to be a tool. A tool to hunt and kill even more werewolves - maybe other supernatural creatures that are apparently real too. 

It is sickening. 

Stiles has been thrown into this world all of a sudden, but he already knows on which side he is going to be. He guesses it also has something to do with the strange kind of pull he still feels. Like there is a connection. A connection between him and the wolf. It is a spot of brightness in a lot of darkness, pressing away the feeling of hopelessness. Something clicked into place. Something he didn't even know he had.

The werewolf whines again and moves with slow, pained movements, pressing his side against the bars. His good eye fills with something like adoration. Stiles runs his fingers through coarse fur, feeling grim and way older than he actually is, suddenly.This feels like something dormant woke up indeed.

“Don’t you worry,” he whispers, just for the wolf to hear, surprising himself with the promise of violence in his voice. “I think we are going to burn them, too. We are going to burn them all.”


End file.
